


Oasis

by valda



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson
Genre: (maybe), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Cunnilingus, Denial, F/F, Nipple Play, Phasma POV, Star-crossed, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, takes place after the razing of Tuanul but before Rey meets BB-8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: Captain Phasma of the First Order is proud of how far she's gotten, and of everything she's done to get there.





	Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coselia/status/1086314734914285569); I have cleaned it up a bit here. (It's still raunchy as fuck, but I tidied the prose.)

She was never without her helmet. No one but Supreme Leader Snoke knew the face she’d left behind on Parnassos—not her soldiers, not Kylo Ren, not even Armitage, her surest ally. She did not look in the mirror in the morning until her true face, her chrome face, was in position.

She did not miss the old Phasma, the one who, over the course of her youth, had brought about the death of her entire people. Witnessing their final destruction was her true coming of age. She was proud of who she was now, beyond those things. Powerful, without weakness. She was proud of her position in the First Order, proud of her allegiance with Armitage, proud of gaining the respect of Kylo Ren, proud that she too commanded the _Finalizer_. One day she would be its sole commander. And one day, she would be beyond that.

The razing of Tuanul reminded her of the orbital bombardment of the Scyre only in its ruthless efficiency, its embodiment of the strength of the Order. And of its mission. Kylo Ren liked to say _Let the past die_. His wisdom belied his young years.

She did not return to the surface of Jakku to walk through Tuanul’s remains because she questioned Ren’s orders. She did not move on toward Niima Outpost afterwards out of a misplaced sense of guilt. And she did not strip out of her armor and bury it on the way because she meant to abandon it.

Niima Outpost was as impermanent as the shifting sands, cobbled together from decades-old civil war vehicles and machinery. It was nowhere, just like Parnassos was nowhere, the main difference being that more people were aware of this nowhere’s existence.

There was nowhere to shelter from the blistering heat, but Phasma hardly cared. She had not come here for shelter. She had not come here for anything at all.

She strolled the junky shipyard casually, taking in the possibilities. There was an ancient freighter, probably a hundred years old. There was a skiff that had seen better days. There was a quad jumper that looked promising.

A tall red speeder pulled into the yard just as Phasma’s circuit brought her back to what the locals referred to as the Concession Stand. The speeder was unique, with a design Phasma didn’t recognize, and it was in nicer condition than almost anything else Phasma had seen. Its driver was small, short and slim, and bundled in strips of cloth.

Phasma could understand wrapping up against the harsh desert elements. Her own face, bare in public for the first time in half a life, burned with sun and wind exposure.

No one would recognize her here, but it still felt unnatural to be without her true face. She watched the speeder’s driver unload a pile of equipment and begin dragging it off toward a stall made out of a converted cargo crawler. She thought about overpowering them, taking some cloth to wind around her face.

Instead, once the driver had moved away, Phasma stepped up to the speeder. It had perfectly functioning repulsors and a rather advanced security system, which someone less perceptive might not even notice. Such an unfortunate person would regret trying to hijack this vehicle.

Phasma wanted to try it anyway. She could disable the security system if she could find its weak points. Then she could travel anywhere on-planet, perhaps to the wreck of a Star Destroyer, and witness the mighty Empire brought low. Let the past die, she thought, but don’t die with it.

“I wouldn’t try it,” a hard voice with a Core Worlds accent barked, and Phasma turned her head to see that the speeder’s owner had returned, head wrap and goggles removed to reveal a face even more youthful than Ren’s.

The young woman—Phasma was reasonably certain she was a woman, anyway—had a soft face, but she stood like a warrior, fighting staff in hand. She did not remind Phasma of anyone at all.

“I was hoping to see a Star Destroyer while I’m here,” Phasma said.

The girl’s nose crinkled. “Just visiting, then?”

“Yes,” Phasma said.

“You should be on your way. There’s nothing to see here.”

“There’s plenty to see here,” Phasma countered, nodding at the speeder. “Did you do this?”

“Did I design it? Did I build it? Did I set it to electro-shock anyone but me?”

“Yes,” Phasma said.

“Yes,” the girl said.

“Impressive,” Phasma said, and the girl did not react in any way. She wasn’t susceptible to flattery. Phasma respected that. “You know how to fight?”

“I can hold my own,” the girl said, shifting into a more defensive stance.

Phasma looked her over. “I believe you,” she said.

“What will you trade for a ride to a Destroyer?” the girl asked.

“What do you want?” Phasma asked.

“Five portions,” the girl said.

Phasma suspected this was an outrageous amount. “One,” she said.

“Three.”

“Done. I’ll pay in advance. Wait here a moment.”

The crolute manning the trading window was more than happy to trade portions for credits. Possibly too many credits, but it was no hardship. Phasma didn’t use her pay for much of anything. She let the creature believe he’d taken horrible advantage and trudged back through the sand to the girl.

“Your portions,” she said, holding them out on an open palm.

The girl took them carefully, looked them over, and slid them into a pouch on her belt. “When would you like to go?” she asked.

“Now,” Phasma said.

The ride took some time, first to actually get to the Starship Graveyard and then to approach a Destroyer. The incomprehensible scale of the Battle of Jakku was writ in the sand here, massive ships scattered like toys, their paradoxical size distorting perspective.

When the girl finally drew the speeder up alongside one of the Empire’s lost capital ships, Phasma’s throat was dry as the desert. The girl slung her leg over the side of the speeder and took a long pull from a metal canteen. Wordlessly, she then offered it to Phasma.

Phasma drank just as much as she needed, then handed the canteen back with a nod. The girl stowed the canteen, then slid smoothly off the side of the speeder and waited on the ground for Phasma to join her. Phasma could easily fly off with the speeder now, leaving the girl behind.

Phasma dismounted, landing hard on the sand, and moved to stand next to the girl, taking in the impressive view.

“This is the _Inflictor_ ,” the girl said. “It’s one of the more interesting ones. It was scuttled after the New Republic boarded it during the battle. Good condition. It’ll be years before we salvage everything.”

“Something to look forward to,” Phasma said. The girl looked at her, but said nothing. “Does your tribe live in the Graveyard?” Phasma asked. It would be ideal to live so close to one’s meal ticket, but perhaps difficult to fight off other scavengers.

“I don’t have a tribe,” the girl said.

“Who are you allied with?”

The girl gave Phasma a half-smile. “Myself.”

For the first time, Phasma thought there might be someone who could understand her.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” Phasma said. “But before I do, I want to give you something.”

“You’ve already paid for the ride,” the girl said.

“I know,” Phasma said. She reached out and trailed bare, rough fingers along the girl’s jaw.

“Oh,” the girl said. She smiled, and her fingers came up to lace with Phasma’s, guiding the first knuckle of Phasma’s middle finger to her mouth for a brief kiss. “All right.”

The girl lived in a fallen Imperial walker, the old AT-AT type. She’d converted it into a living space, with a work area, a cooking area, and a sleeping area all nestled in the former troop compartment. It was, Phasma noticed, decorated, if crudely.

There was a hammock strung from the ceiling, near the door where the girl could wake and react quickly to intruders. There was no bed. But then, Phasma—the old Phasma—had never had a bed. Not like she had now. Nothing so soft as what the First Order provided.

Phasma sat on the hammock and spread her legs, inviting the girl to come stand between them. When she did, Phasma took her face in both hands and kissed her on the mouth.

The girl’s lips were wind-chapped but flushed with arousal, moving needily against Phasma’s. Phasma slid her hands down to the girl’s shoulders, then down her sides to hold her by the hips. The girl let out a soft sigh into Phasma’s mouth.

She kissed the girl until those sighs turned to impatient groans, then moved her mouth to the girl’s neck, biting and sucking gently. The girl put her arms around Phasma’s neck and her hands into Phasma’s hair. Phasma worked at the girl’s raggedy clothing, unwrapping her.

When the girl’s upper layers were shifted enough to bare her breasts, Phasma bent to explore them with her mouth, running her tongue along the gentle curve beneath each one, then kissing and sucking a line between them.

The girl’s nipples hardened quickly, and as soon as they did Phasma raised both hands to take them between her fingers. She rolled and squeezed, gently at first and then harder, until the girl was moaning and squirming, shifting from foot to foot.

Phasma leaned in to replace one of her hands with her mouth. She slid her freed hand over the girl’s tight stomach and down to her mound, cupping it lightly through her undergarments. The girl let out a loud gasp.

There was no need for the girl to worry about her volume, living out here at the edge of the Starship Graveyard by herself. Phasma wondered how loud she would get.

Back in the Scyre, it was rarely a secret when anyone indulged in sex. There had been no need to be quiet there either, except out of courtesy if others were sleeping. But in the First Order, cries of pleasure were muffled by hands, liaisons not spoken of in the light of day.

It was smart. Sex could make you vulnerable. Brendol Hux had sought to make Phasma subservient to him through sex, and she was proud she had not allowed it. Her dalliances after joining the Order were carefully executed—as were her partners, when necessary.

Phasma bit down on the girl’s nipple, making her shriek.

Soothing the bite with her tongue, Phasma sucked the girl’s nipple gently, then drew back and rose to her feet. The girl gazed up with half-lidded eyes and pink cheeks and an open red mouth, and Phasma bent to slip her hands under the girl’s ass and pick her up by the thighs.

The girl wrapped her legs around Phasma’s waist and put her hands in Phasma’s hair again. Phasma pressed the girl’s body up against the wall next to the door, propping her there with one hand under her ass. She brought her other hand around to the girl’s front, playing her fingers beneath the waistband of the girl’s trousers.

The girl was hot between her legs, hotter than the desert, but far, far wetter. Phasma explored the folds beneath the wild thatch of hair, sliding a finger further and further between them while the girl’s back arched up and she let out pants and gasps and moans.

The girl kissed her then, kissed her like she was starving and Phasma’s lips were a banquet. Phasma allowed it, deepened it, licked into the girl’s mouth just as she pressed a finger inside her. The girl’s delicious squeal was muffled by Phasma’s mouth; Phasma wanted to hear it, really hear it, so she broke the kiss and bit down on the girl’s shoulder, stroking a finger into her deeper and deeper.

The girl did not disappoint.

It wasn’t long before Phasma was fucking the girl against the wall with three fingers. The girl wailed in pleasure and whipped her head from side to side and tightened her fingers painfully in Phasma’s hair. She was every bit as loud as Phasma had hoped.

When the girl’s gasping moans grew urgent, building higher and higher, Phasma knew she was going to come. Phasma stopped moving completely. The girl’s cunt squeezed tight around her fingers, desperate, and in response she pulled them slowly out.

“What—” the girl started to ask.

Phasma pushed her fingers into the girl’s mouth. “Tell me how you taste,” she said.

The girl blinked and made a face, then tentatively sucked at Phasma’s fingers. She was trembling with want. “Good,” she answered when Phasma withdrew her fingers. “Please.”

Phasma pulled the girl off the wall and carried her back to the hammock, laying her down on it and tugging her trousers and undergarments down and off. Then, without waiting a moment longer, she shoved the girl’s legs to her shoulders and buried her face in the girl’s cunt.

She did, in fact, taste good.

It wasn’t long before the girl was writhing on the hammock, clutching at it, legs shaking under Phasma’s hands. Phasma nosed at the girl’s clit and she screamed, licked into her and she sobbed.

Finally Phasma let go of one of the girl’s legs and began fucking her with her fingers again, latching her mouth onto her clit. The girl came crying, shaking, gasping for breath, and Phasma made it last, made her keep coming until she pleaded “Stop!”

The girl lay there twitching for some time. Phasma watched her, traced fingers over her smooth, tanned skin.

Eventually the girl came back to herself, blinking the focus back to her eyes, scrubbing the tear tracks on her cheeks with her palms. She smiled up at Phasma in a way that was a reminder of how dangerous this sort of encounter could be.

Phasma leaned in and licked at the girl’s tears, tasting them.

The girl let out a tremulous giggle. “Can I give you something?” she asked, breathless.

“You already have,” Phasma said.

“I know.”

“Very well,” Phasma said.

The girl scrambled off the hammock, set to rummaging through a pile of parts. She drew out a long box and pressed her thumb to its lock.

“What’s this?” Phasma asked curiously as the box sprang open.

“I made it,” the girl said.

It was long and not too fat, cylindrical with a rounded end and a handle at the other end, as if it were a very short saber. It looked almost like—

The girl pressed a button on the handle and the whole thing started vibrating so hard it buzzed.

“I think you’ll like it,” the girl said. “I do.”

Phasma had to grin. “I think I will too.”

Phasma removed her cloak and worked her way out of her standard-issue black unitard. The girl watched her raptly, the vibrator still going in her hand. “Where do you want me?” Phasma asked.

“Lie back on my bed, that’s easiest,” the girl said, so Phasma reclined on the hammock. “Put one of your feet on—yes, like that,” the girl said as Phasma propped herself up and open. The girl looked almost hungry as she knelt in front of Phasma’s exposed cunt.

The girl didn’t push the vibrator in right away. First, she turned it off and slid it into her own mouth, getting it wet. Then she rubbed it gently over the outside of Phasma’s cunt, tracing her folds and massaging her clit with light, sweeping movements.

Phasma sucked in a breath.

“Do you like it?” the girl asked.

“Yes,” Phasma said, even though she hadn’t even really used it yet.

The girl smiled broadly, so broadly it was like the sun peeking through clouds, and rubbed a little harder.

Phasma was dripping wet by the time the girl pressed the vibrator to her entrance, just from being teased by a dildo. She was breathing hard, too. The girl was focused on her task, glancing up to watch Phasma’s face every so often, and she looked very good, kneeling there naked.

The girl finally, finally pushed the vibrator inside, though it still wasn’t turned on. She pumped it slowly in and out of Phasma a few times. Then she pulled it out completely, pushed it up between Phasma’s folds, and turned it on just as she reached Phasma’s clit.

Phasma hadn’t known that anyone could make her shriek like that. That she was even capable of shrieking like that.

The girl did not let up, rubbing the vibrator over Phasma’s clit and then sliding it down and into her, thrusting the vibrating wand in and out and in and out and then moving it back to Phasma’s clit. It was _glorious_.

“Amazing,” Phasma huffed out.

The girl couldn’t possibly know what high praise that was coming from Phasma, but she grinned again anyway, looking delighted. Then she said “Let me give this a try” and sucked Phasma’s clit into her mouth.

“ _Oh_ ,” Phasma thundered, and she bit down on her fist, the fingers of her opposite hand digging hard into her thigh.

The girl set to alternating, sucking on Phasma’s clit and shoving the vibrator deep inside her, then removing her mouth and sliding the vibrator up to take over. Phasma couldn’t believe what a brilliant little thing she was.

As she finally crested with a long, shuddery moan, Phasma thought that this girl was exactly what the First Order needed—exactly what they were looking for in recruits. She’d make a fine soldier, a fine squad leader. She might even become an officer.

It didn’t matter that she wasn’t as young as their usual candidates. Phasma had been around this age when she was recruited. Armitage wouldn’t say no. Kylo Ren wouldn’t care.

She felt hazy, sated. She reached for the girl and pulled her into her arms, held her close and lay back with her. She could keep her. She could take her back to the Order and keep her. “Come with me,” she said without thinking.

The girl stilled in her arms. Was she going to say no?

“Come with me,” she repeated, forgetting any misgivings. What reason could there be not to?

The girl raised her head, gazed into Phasma’s eyes. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. I have to stay here.”

Phasma let out an incredulous laugh. “What is there for you here? Where I can take you, you’ll be able to build whatever you want, and you’ll never be hungry.” And Phasma could have this again. Whenever she wanted.

“There’s nothing here yet,” the girl said. “But there will be, and I have to be here for it.”

“You’re really turning me down,” Phasma said.

The girl lowered her head to Phasma’s breast and nodded silently.

She could kill the girl. Perhaps she should; sex made you vulnerable, after all. The girl might have learned something, might somehow cause a problem for Phasma in the future.

But Phasma knew that the truth was she would never see her again. This girl would live out the rest of her days on this dustball, refusing the opportunity Phasma had gladly taken based on nothing but faith—just as she’d shared her water with a total stranger.

She was too weak for the Order. She was too weak for Phasma.

She was too weak to ever cause a problem.

“I’m going to make dinner,” the girl said. “Do you want some?”

Phasma’s arms tightened around the girl, feeling her soft, slim body pressed up against her, smelling her hair—sweat and wildflowers. “No,” she said.

She set off as soon as she was cleaned up and dressed, hiking alone back to Niima Outpost to get her bearings. From there she hiked back to Tuanul, digging up her armor and putting it back on along the way. When she reached the shuttle, she ordered takeoff immediately.

Her troopers hadn’t found anything in the ruins of the Jedi-worshiping community, not that Phasma had thought they would. She’d tell Armitage she was being thorough. That now they knew for sure the map wasn’t hidden there.

She had important things to think about, important things to do. It was best that the girl hadn’t returned with her. She didn’t have the time for her.

It wasn’t until after the First Order had left Jakku, after Takodana, that Phasma discovered the girl wasn’t weak and harmless after all.

It was a mistake that cost the Order their superweapon, that very nearly cost Kylo Ren his life. It was a mistake that Phasma could ill afford to let stand.

She would kill Rey, as she should have to begin with. She didn’t know how and she didn’t know when, but she would kill her.

Then all would be right again.


End file.
